


Marinette's No Good, Horribly Terrible Day

by OceanPenguin



Series: Marinette's No Good, Horribly Terrible Day [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Comfort, F/M, First Dates, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 10:44:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12274773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanPenguin/pseuds/OceanPenguin
Summary: Marinette has had a bad day. Adrien's standing at her door with a gift.or:Bad days are horrible, but there's always something that can make it better.Companion to Girl on the Bus.





	Marinette's No Good, Horribly Terrible Day

“Shoot!” Marinette flew across the street in horror, running across cars and past other students on her way to school, praying that the crosswalk light would remain white. When it chose to flash into a red hand instead, she sped up, barely stepping onto the other side before the first car drove into street. 

Slowing down, she adjust her backpack as it attempted to hold her backpack as it threatened to fall off her back. It wasn’t her fault that her teachers chose to assign her so much homework that her bloated bag covered her back like her own turtle shell and slowed her down until she moved like a snail. It also wasn’t her fault that the police patrol cars decided to go out in full force today, pulling over no less than three cars on the mile-long stretch of highway, slowing down the usual crawl of highway traffic to the place of a sleepy sloth. And to make it worse, her first class was on the other side of school campus, the farthest it could be.  

Which also meant, then, that her tardiness to class wasn’t her fault either. Couldn’t class start at 8:30, not 8? And was it too much to expect decent traffic and a relatively light backpack? She lost weight from lugging around the ten-pound backpack everyday, back and forth from school every single day. 

She prayed to the heavens above that the rest of the day would go smoother.

It didn’t. (Marinette swore she was never praying to the higher powers again.)

In her first class, English, there was an unplanned timed write. Forty frantic minutes of analyzing a speech and writing her own essay in illegible penmanship later, she was subjected to a stern talking-to from her teacher, a stick of a woman, about the sheer messiness of her handwriting. It was clearly affecting her grade, but she had to run before the talk could be finished. Lahiffe’s nostrils flared before she allowed Marinette to leave for her next class, calculus, where  _ she had a pop test. _

Clearly, the gods had it out for Marinette today. With a sense of relief, Marinette recognized most of the things the test was testing her on; it wasn’t too bad, she supposed, but then again, she wasn’t operating with her right mind. In hindsight, she may have missed a question or five that would plummet the test to a B (and ruin her GPA), but for now, it was acceptable grade. She pushed the notion out of her head before she could break down in tears. 

Lugging her backpack to her next class, history, she pulled out a sheaf of highlighted handwritten notes, twenty pages long.  _ This  _ was why she woke up late this morning. Seven hours of note-taking on the weekend wasn’t enough, apparently, because it took her another hour and a half to finish highlighting them, not to mention the frustratingly difficult weekly tests the class gave on each chapter. She’d stayed up late the night before trying to finish the notes, because the teacher was also known for asking about ridiculously obscure facts from each time period.  

“Alright, class, here’s the president’s project!” The teacher brandished a stack of papers, cheerfully threatening the class that he could make it due at the end of the week  _ which was in two days,  _ but instead, was making it due a month later because of his sheer generosity. He demanded a round of applause, which the class half-heartedly gave. 

Marinette looked at her classmates, who sported dark circles and bags under their eyes, just like her. She muffled her groan and buried her head into her arms, fighting off the lure of sleep, but she couldn’t go to sleep now. At least, not in this class. With a burst of effort, she pulled herself up and out of dreamland, only to find the teacher staring straight at her. 

“Marinette,” he asked frostily, “who was the instrumental Supreme Court judge in the Supreme Court case  _ Brown v. Board of Education _ ?”

She stared back, mute, before she realized that she’d just taken notes on it in the early hours of the morning. “It was Earl Warren, Mr. Rossi.”

“Justice Earl Warren, to be precise. Take care that you won’t fall asleep in class again.”

“Sorry, sir,” she said, injecting as much sincerity as she could. Rossi nodded and moved on to torment her classmates, shocking people awake with questions and random facts.

It was then she realized that she had developed a headache. The pain throbbed from the base of her neck, reaching outwards to the entire back of her head and down to her shoulders. She reached for her drugstore painkillers, and then remembered that Rossi fervently prohibited eating and drinking, even of water, in his classroom. 

She resolved to suffer in silence until class ended. 

The rest of the day went smoother than her morning, if only because lunch had made her feel human again. The painkillers didn’t hurt; her headache went away within half an hour of ingestion, and her last two classes were predictable, if boring. 

It was with a happy bounce in her step that she went to wait for the bus after school. She checked the bus arrival time on her app - the line 321 would be coming in two minutes! In twenty glorious minutes, she would be at home, relaxing in her bed with 3:25 staring at her from her clock. 

Except, when 321 came to the stop, it just drove past. The empty bus passed in front of her and the dozens of classmates standing with her. She stared, floored, as the driver took one glance at the horde of students and pushed down hard on the gas.

Of course. Just when she thought her day was about to look up, it went down again. By the time the next bus came, she managed to develop yet another headache which she couldn’t even take painkillers for (instructions said to take a pill every six hours and it had hadn’t even been three hours since she took the pill. No amount of rolling or rubbing her neck would make it go away.

The next bus came in forty minutes. 

Marinette collapsed on her bed, tired and frustrated, when the doorbell rang. 

“God, what is it?” she groaned as she pulled herself out of her bed. She didn’t bother changing clothes; her lazy outfit would be good enough for whoever was at the door. It was just the mailman or the Amazon delivery guy, not her crush.

She should’ve known by the way the her day was going that Adrien was the one standing at the door, with a lavishly wrapped box and a card on top. He looked nervous and sweaty, if the sheen on his forehead was anything to go by. He also kept flicking his eyes between her face and her doorway, almost as if he wanted to run, and - wait.

What was he doing here? When did she ever give him her address? Christ almighty, did someone hack into her Facebook account? Did  _ he  _ hack into her Facebook account? Was the person she liked a  _ stalker _ ?

Oh, and she was wearing the rattiest pair of sweatpants and hoodie that she favored. Great, now she looks like a hoodlum. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind before it could add to her headache. 

“Hi,” she said dumbly, at a loss for what to say. “What are you doing here? How’d you get my address, anyways?” Huh. Apparently, she had something to say. 

“Hey, Marinette. Um, Alya gave it to me.” His eyes finally focused on her, and a nervous smile appeared on his face. 

“Yes, hello.” Hadn’t they gone over this already? She just wanted him to state his business and then leave. She wanted to go lay back down on her bed. 

“How are you?” he ventured. Great, Adrien was one of those chatty ones at a house call, wasn’t he?

“I’m good, thanks.” Hopefully, he’d take the short answer for the hint it was, do what he came here to do, and leave.

He didn’t. “Oh. That’s nice to hear.” Adrien shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I was wondering if you’d-if you’d-.” He cleared his throat. 

She suppressed a sigh and leaned against the door, tilting her head to relieve the tension from her neck. “Sorry, I have a strain in my neck today,” she apologized when she caught him looking. “Must have slept in the wrong position last night.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he ventured. There was a pause. Then, he opened his mouth, and said in a stream of words, “Iwaswonderingifyou’dliketogoonadatewithme.”

She blinked. “Sorry? Could you repeat that?” Marinette thought she had heard something along the lines of dating him, but that would’ve never been possible in any universe. 

Adrien’s face and neck flushed red. “A date. Um, with me. If you were interested, that is.”

“Oh.” Well, that was unexpected. She thought there had to be someone coming out of a bush and yelling, “Ha! Loser!”, but there didn’t seem to be anyone like that around. 

“Um….” How was she supposed to formulate her answer? Yes, I’d love to go on a date with you? Please? Pinch me, I’m dreaming?

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be good.” She smiled weakly at Adrien, whose eyes widened in horror. 

“Oh, no, Marinette, you don’t need to say yes if you don’t want to. It’s okay, really, it is.” He shoved the box and the card into her hands. “Anyways, I just wanted you to have this, and-” Adrien ran a hand through his hair, sticking it up all over the place, and then frantically patted it back down. Marinette thought it was cute. “You probably wouldn’t want them, what am I thinking, why would you want something I gave you when you don’t even like me? Anyways, I’ll just get going, why are you-mmph!”

Marinette threw her arms around him, burying her face into his shoulder. She had heard the words “go” and the “don’t want” and, well, she didn’t want him to leave. This seemed to be the most effective way of getting him to stay, so she pulled him into her hug. He seemed to be frozen in place. Good.  

“I’m having a bad day,” she said into his shoulder. Wait, that probably wasn’t the best thing to start with. She pulled him closer in case he decided to run away. “I’m just tired right now, and when I’m tired, my smiles look like grimaces, but rest assured that I will never say yes to something I don’t want.” She picked up her head and looked at him in the eye. “So before I lose all of my confidence, I’ll just tell it to you straight. I like you, and I’d love to go on a date with you.” 

“Oh. That’s great.” He tentatively wrapped his arms around her, warm weights resting on her back. She sighed, comfortable, and snuggled into his shoulders. Her headache had gone away.

They stayed still for a few seconds before he cleared his throat. “Marinette, as much as I’d love to stay here with you-”

“You’re comfortable,” she interrupted. 

“You are, too.” Was he smiling? “It’s just that my dad expects me home at five, and I’d love to spend some time with you that’s not out here on the doorstep where everyone can see us.”

Humiliation burned bright through her mind as she imagined her nosy neighbors poking their noses into her business again.

“You can come in. Remember to take your shoes off at the door.” She tugged him through the doorway and set the presents down on the table near the entryway. “Water? Tea?”

“Just water, thanks.” He stood by awkwardly as Marinette filled two glasses of water, one for him and the other for herself. The cold liquid was like a shock to her system, and it brought all of the events that had occurred in the past few minutes to the forefront of her mind. Had she really just clung onto Adrien like a koala bear and refused to let him go?

Her cheeks heated up as her embarrassment grew, and she ducked her head, unable to speak. “I’m not usually so straightforward,” she said eventually, rolling the glass cup in her hand. “I guess that’s what a lack of sleep does to me.”

A warm hand covered hers, gently prying it away from the glass. “I don’t mind,” he said softly. “I like you any way I can get you.”

“Me too,” she mumbled. Had she really just said that?

“Good to know I’m not the only one feeling this way.” 

She winced when the headache grew and pulsed in her head. Apparently, only Adrien could make it go away. She opened her mouth to ask when Adrien broke in, “Could I hug you again?” 

Marinette bit her lip, pleased, and nodded. She drew him to the sofa and curled up next to Adrien, sighing in pleasure when one of his hands wrapped around the back of her neck. “You just make the pain go away.”

“Oh, that’s good. Are you feeling better? You mentioned you had a bad day earlier.”

She shook her head, sleepy and content. “No, just tests and traffic lights and buses that won’t stop.”

There was a chuckle above her. “Seems like a lot to me.”

“You’re here. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Her words seemed fuzzy, even to her. There was a light brush of pressure against her hair, and she drifted off to sleep.

Marinette woke up a few hours later, refreshed and alert. Her headache was gone. She would’ve thought the entire thing was a dream if it wasn’t for the note in front of her, written in Adrien’s distinctive handwriting.

_ You fell asleep, and since I didn’t want to wake you up to tell you I had to get home before five, I guess a note would do. I really do hope you feel better soon! -Adrien. _

She grinned at the note when a ping from her phone alerted her to a new message. Attached were photos of her sleeping that Adrien took, all of them featuring her sleep mussed hair and closed eyes.  _ Just thought you should have these,  _ read the caption accompanying the pictures.  _ You’re adorable when you’re asleep.  _

_ Thanks,  _ she sent back.  _ I’m feeling a lot better now.  _

Well, she reflected, although her day was bad, things were looking up. And if the gods that be decided to bring her Adrien, well, it looked like that plea hadn’t gone to waste after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Bad days are horrible, but there's always something that can make them better.


End file.
